


Push the Right Button, Darling

by curiumKingyo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Deepthroating, Feels, Fluffy Ending, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Post-Coital Cuddling, This is a Certified Hot Mess, Wet & Messy, sloppy sex, thicc!McCree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiumKingyo/pseuds/curiumKingyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During his life Hanzo Shimada had seen many impressive feats, an ever growing list that doubled size quickly after he joined Overwatch. He had seen Mei freeze an entire troop of Talon agents in the blink of an eye; and Reinhardt protect a handful of hostages with only his body, armor and courage. He had been the protagonist of some of these awe-inspiring moments himself, taking impossible leaps from rooftop to rooftop and nailing shots only a handful of people in the world would be able to.</p>
<p>None of these feats is as impressive as the daily struggle of the buttons keeping Jesse McCree’s shirt closed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push the Right Button, Darling

During his life Hanzo Shimada had seen many impressive feats, an ever growing list that doubled size quickly after he joined Overwatch. He had seen Mei freeze an entire troop of Talon agents in the blink of an eye; and Reinhardt protect a handful of hostages with only his body, armor and courage. He had been the protagonist of some of these awe-inspiring moments himself, taking impossible leaps from rooftop to rooftop and nailing shots only a handful of people in the world would be able to.

None of these feats is as impressive as the daily struggle of the buttons keeping Jesse McCree’s shirt closed.

Hanzo isn’t a small man by no means but he can’t help but feel so when McCree stands by his side. McCree, whose shoulders are broad as a door and whose arms seem like logs. With a chest wide enough to block the view tapering minutely onto his waist before flaring into a soft belly and wide hips and legs that seem to go on forever. Whose hands could easily envelope Hanzo’s waist – not that he had thought about it.

McCree is not an unrefined man but everything about him is big and burly: his body, his rumbling voice, his expansive presence that seem to reach every corner in the room. Hanzo is not a weak man but he feels so when he sees those thick lips wrapped around thick cigars, vowels curling on the molasses of his accent.

In his battle gear McCree seems like a tank, shiny metal and glowing LEDs, dwarfed only by Reinhardt and Zarya. Hanzo deeply appreciates the way the chest plate shapes the cowboy’s body, giving him perfect posture and a slight curve to his waist. But as impressive as this view is, it is still not as tantalizing as the casual outfit wore by McCree when they are simply hanging around the base on a free day.

Oh, those brave buttons! The checkered flannel hugs McCree’s chest tightly, bulges on his arms and clings to his back like he was born inside it. On cold days he wears a white undershirt that covers most of his chest – it rarely gets cold in Gibraltar, so a generous part of the man’s chest is always on view. The red and black shirt isn’t nearly long enough to cover all of his torso, the hem barely brushing the tacky belt buckle he seems to wear at any given moment.

When he moves those strong arms around a revolution happens on the piece of clothing: fabric stretches valiantly over his muscles, rides up to reveal the tan and soft flesh of his belly, bunches between jutted shoulderblades. And choke the little black buttons like they had insulted their mother. In more than one occasion Hanzo had been sure the plastic things would just snap loose and bounce all over the place, leaving the shirt open and McCree’s chest unguarded.

He’d never been lucky enough for it to happen.

McCree had flirted with him from day one. Hanzo stopped being mad about it on day seventeen. He started to crave it on day fourty-two. And replied to it on day one hundred and thirty-six.

The sunset of day one hundred and ninety-nine finds him pressed against the door of Jesse’s room, with handfuls of shaggy brown hair between his fingers and a clever tongue assaulting his mouth. McCree’s knee slots between his legs and he is forced to practically sit on the thick thigh, his feet barely touching the floor as he moans into the cowboy’s kisses. He is overwhelmed by Jesse’s presence, his body so close to his own, the heavy breath and soft pants that seem to fill the air until very little of it is available for him to breathe.

Jesse gropes his ass greedily and humps against Hanzo’s pelvis with as little shame as one would expect of him. The archer humps back with vengeance, taking every little sound as war spoils. Hanzo’s head is spinning when Jesse pulls back to inhale large gulps of air.

As he takes deep breaths his chest expands and contracts beautifully, the struggle of the black little buttons close to Hanzo’s face in their current position. The Japanese man licks his lips and slides his hands down to Jesse’s chest, cupping and caressing it through the shirt. McCree sighs at the touch, puffing his chest out to offer more of it to Hanzo and the archer smirks as he carefully weaves his fingers between the buttons and yank the clothing open forcefully.

“The hell?” Jesse weezes, but his pupils are large black pools, shiny with lust and hunger.

“They needed a break,” Hanzo explains soothingly, fingernails dragging through the soft hair dusted across McCree’s chest. “I’ve been watching their struggle for months, as they kept your gorgeous body hidden from me. I though it was high time for them to take some vacations.”

McCree stares at him for a long while, unblinking in his shock and lust. Hanzo begins to rethink his course of action but before he apologizes Jesse picks him up roughly and tosses him onto the bed with an almost feral groan. He sheds the shirt in the speed of light and Hanzo whimpers weakly at the sight. Glorious pecs adorned with thick soft brown hair, little dark nipples begining to peak under Hanzo’s heavy stare, the slight curve of his waist and the gentle slope of his belly; all wrapped in warm sun-kissed skin.

Hanzo is not a weak man but he feels so when Jesse kneels by his side on the bed and easily manhandles him until his back is against the wall. Kneeling there, legs splayed to accomodate McCree, face tilted up so he could see the cowboy; Hanzo believes _this_ is the most impressive thing he had ever seen.

The cowboy cups his face in one hand and rests the other on his ridiculous belt buckle, thumbing it almost thoughtfully. “I liked that shirt a lot, darling,” he says sweetly, “maybe you should do something to compensate for destroying it.” Hanzo opens his mouth under the soft pressure of McCree’s thumb and enthusiastically sucks on the thick digit. The cowboy smiles.

“You got it,” Jesse says as his prosthetic hand works on undoing his belt and opening his tight jeans. Hanzo is only slightly surprised that the cowboy doesn’t wear any sort of underwear. In fact, he would be more surprised by this fact if he weren’t completely smitten by McCree’s impressive erection.

Hanzo’s mouth fills with water as he watches McCree pulling his cock free from his pants. It might not be the longest Hanzo had seen but it is, by far, the thickest. McCree’s large hand can barely close around it, the clash of steel grey and tan skin a sight to behold. The uncut head is red and shiny, wet with precum and looks impossibly inviting. The archer feels some drool dribbling down his chin as McCree yanks him closer.

His tongue pushes McCree’s thumb away, eager to have something else on his mouth. Jesse doesn’t disappoint him, holding his dick up in the perfect angle for Hanzo to take it. A long lick to the crown, followed by lips stretching almost painfully around the girth. Hanzo’s eyes roll to the back of his head, eyelids fluttering half closed as he forces his jaw wider.

“Darling you look like a painting like this,” McCree’s voice is airy, his flesh hand tugging on his own hair as if to keep focus. Hanzo hums and suckles on the wet tip of the gunslinger’s erection in response. The moan that leaves Jesse’s mouth rattles Hanzo’s core.

Hanzo likes to do everything in his life the way he shoots his bow: with careful consideration and graceful precision. The blowjob he gives McCree is anything but. For once he allows himself to be as sloppy as he needs to, hands gripping the soft flesh around Jesse’s hips as he forces himself to take more and more of that impossible girth. There is drool dripping down his chin, messily wetting his beard and drawing shiny lines down his neck. The taste of precum and the thick smell of McCree’s body overwhelms his senses. Tiny tears cling to his eyelashes.

He wails when McCree reaches down with a hand and deftly sneaks it into his pants to grab at his cock. The rough and warm skin of McCree’s hand contrasts with the cold silk of his clothes and Hanzo moans as the cowboy squeezes a  fat dollop of precum from him. Moaning seems like a good thing because it allows McCree to slide that tiny bit further into Hanzo’s throat and isn’t it amazing that he can take so much? He thinks he’ll feel it for days.

Whatever rhythm they build is lost quickly as they approach orgasm. Hanzo’s nails dig deeply into the soft layer of flab around McCree’s hips, surely marks would be left there along with pale stretch marks that Hanzo will certainly pay closer attention to on a next time.

In a last moment effort Hanzo manages to bring all of McCree’s erection into his mouth. His face presses against the slight pouch of the gunslinger’s belly, the sweat on Hanzo’s forehead sticking to the little curls of hair there. Jesse actually screams when he feels the perfect pressure of Hanzo’s mouth envelope him completely and he cums with a spasm.

Hanzo can’t swallow around McCree’s girth, his throat and cheeks already too full to allow the movement. Cum fills what little space is left in his mouth before gushing out of his stretched lips in messy lines. He coughs and Jesse pulls away quickly, which only causes more cum to land on Hanzo’s face, mixing with his drool and sweat into a sopping mess. His entire face is lax and flushed, his lips red and sore. His usually regal expression substituted by a vacant stare and slight smile. Jesse squeezes him one more time and he barely moves as he comes over the American’s hand and inside his own clothes.

McCree slowly peels himself off, carefully keeping a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t fall. The cowboy brings Hanzo down, carefully arranging him on the bed. Hanzo welcomes the gentle manhandling and makes tiny appreciative sounds as he settles comfortably on the generous curve of McCree’s body.

Hanzo’s eyes don’t open, no matter how much he wants to see the blissed expression McCree is surely making. Satisfaction and sleep prevent him from moving as he feels a soft cloth carefully wiping the worse part of the mess from his face.

“Made a number on you, darling,” McCree says tenderly as he settles more comfortably on the bed. “Sorry about it.”

“I liked it,” Hanzo says as he nuzzles his still sticky face against McCree’s chest. “Sorry about the scratches,” he mumbles, gently caressing the plump curve of the cowboy’s hip where half-moon marks lay. McCree snorts.

“Yeah, I liked it too, so I say we’re even.”

Hanzo nods and hums but says nothing otherwise, his hand still tenderly rubbing at McCree’s soft belly. Some part of him wants to take off his clothes and properly wash his face but the effort seems too big at the moment, specially when McCree lays a thick arm across his back, effectively trapping him against the cowboy.

Sleep comes easily – far easier than most nights. He wakes up the next morning, McCree snoring lightly by his side. Hanzo turns to look at him, a fond smile playing on his lips. There is something stuck to McCree’s face and Hanzo carefully picks it – a round black button that had somehow landed on the bed. He giggles and carefully stashes the button away in the inner pocket of his kyudo-gi before falling back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I am fucking weak to Tumblr prompts/ideas/asks and stuff and I when saw this   
> [gem](http://bicosporn.tumblr.com/post/148777799614/big-burly-broad-mccree-with-a-soft-belly-and-the), the fic sprung to life without further prompting >_


End file.
